


A Bright and Burning Thing

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Deception, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you enjoy your first taste of true magic?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bright and Burning Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrapbullet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/gifts).



The first time Blackwood met Lord Coward, it was nothing more than a vague impression of eagerness, of curiosity, of easily corrupted morals, common to any one of the many young faces, interested in the secret workings of the order. He had waited until the clamor died down, and spoken to them of magic. Of real magic, practical magic, magic they could see and feel and touch, and invited them to sample some. Some, he knew, would turn and run as quickly as they could, far more, consider, desire, and deny themselves, and a few, a select few, would muster their courage and come.

*

The second time Blackwood met Lord Coward was after said ritual. The boys in men's bodies mingled, some uneasily, some with eager anticipation. All of them lacked spark, lacked ambition, lacked that burn of want. They were lazy, debauched, playing. He spoke to each, a word, a question, a prod to join in again. "Did you enjoy your first taste of true magic?" he asked, and Coward turned to him with glittering eyes.

"Enjoyed isn't quite the word I would use, my lord," he replied, and his lips curved into something hungry.

"Oh?"

"Mm. Savored, perhaps. Or basked in," and his words are caressing.

Blackwood smiled. "And you want more."

"Oh, yes." And Blackwood knows that this is one young man he will not forget.

*

It is not long before Coward is attending every meeting, present even when his peers had lost interest, drifted toward other pursuits. He is eager, and willing, and burns, every part of him speaking of want, of hunger, of need. Blackwood tests him, slowly, and finds no limits, no point where he pulls back. He juggles his time with ease, no matter how demanding Blackwood becomes; is quick to breathe the order's intentions to his new lord; hesitates not a moment when presented with sacrifice and ritual knife. And when Blackwood touches his face afterwards, and tells him, "You look good in bloodstains," Coward merely turns his face into Blackwood's hand and whispers,

"How good?" And Blackwood replaces his hand with his lips, and is only too happy to show him.

*

Coward believes in the magic. He watches it all with something of the delight of a child proved right, something of a man ravenous for more. He _believes_ with an intensity that is beyond Blackwood, unsustainable. Blackwood finds it intoxicating, the way Coward looks at him after a ritual, the _want_ in his eyes, in his mouth, in his words, and he feeds him on Latin chants and ancient books and sweat slicked skin.

When he comes back from Reardon's workshop, smelling of chemicals and decay, mind whirling with the new possibilities technology awards him, he finds he is unable to meet the worship in Coward's eyes.

He thinks with a slight shiver of fear what might come if Coward learns of the mechanical workings behind the thin shield of magic, and redoubles his efforts to keep him unaware.


End file.
